


as red as night

by redhoodedwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dark Stiles, Demon Wolf, Evil Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Murder, Serial Killer Stiles, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:19:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodedwolf/pseuds/redhoodedwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles finds himself wondering why no one ever seems to make it to Valentine's day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as red as night

**Author's Note:**

> So I had an interesting day. Saw Sweeney Todd. Then was angry for other reasons. The I had this dream, and I decided to write it. 
> 
> I don't know what goes on in my mind sometimes or where this came from. I hate gore and death, so this surprised me. But it was fun (?) to write.

It's an odd set up, Stiles has come to know. 

He's new to the area, but not new to the morphed faces and gore. He's seen enough to last a lifetime, and thought Beacon Hills would be different.

It's not.

Good. 

The alpha there has two betas, an uncle and a kid. It's not much, but it keeps the territory safe, they assure him when he comfronts them. They can hold their own, the tiny pack of three.

(Scott had said that once, and when three became one, Stiles ran with blood stained fingers and an itch.) 

He integrates himself into the pack, starting with Peter, the uncle. He is manipulative, but stupid and leaves holes open for anyone to crawl through, much less rats. Stiles has learned he is less than a rat, so he fits in quite nicely. 

He coos and coddles Isaac, sweeping him into his arms after another brutal attack, tending to his wounds with his knowing touch and caring hands.

Derek is wary of him, he knows this, but the alpha intrigues him. He pokes and prods the way he does and finds out the little things. Then the big things. He loves the big things, they always make them more exciting.

Then the alpha becomes intrigued by _him_ and, well, that's all Stiles could ask for. The love of an alpha. 

Suddenly he is one of four, the small pack of four of Beacon Hills, keeping all unknowing eyes from danger. Three wolves and one human.

(The world is pathetic.)

Stiles always brought danger. He should have warned them. Oh, he should have. 

He's not even sure what the monster is this time: rogue omega or possibly maybe just a faerie sprite. 

(He's always hated those little buggers- far too stringy and always get stuck in his teeth.)

It must be something big, though, because Peter is down and dead, in a hallway somewhere of this wretched old building that they always seem to end up in. He has Isaac slumped in his arms, half conscious. Stiles drapes him onto the floor and tries to shake him awake, to pry his eyes open alive. For just a little more. A little more time. 

"Run!" he hears Derek yell and looks up to find the alpha sprinting towards them. He is covered in blood, every last inch of him, and Stiles realizes that his own brown jacket is soaked to the bone, but oddly his shirt is pristine white. 

(Bleach. Stiles has always loved bleach. Hates the smell, though.)

The thing must be dead, or dying, because nothing is trailing after Derek. The alpha collapses against Isaac and checks his wound. 

Stiles' eyes are frantic, they roam over Derek's body, a litany of words and consoling thoughts leave his lips in a kind voice, and his trained heart never stutters. 

"He's dying," he hears Derek whine, low in the back of his throat, and Stiles throws on the tears. They are easier this time to take. 

Stiles watches Isaac die slowly in Derek's arms, watches as no one sees, sees the claws rip through leather and flesh and pierce and toss. Derek is gasping for breath and the thing slashes and slashes and Stiles knows there will be no chest to heal when it is finished. 

Isaac is nearing his finality, but keeps his eyes open and attentive on Derek and the thing. "Take the alpha's power! He'd want you to have it- let him bite you!" Isaac gasps with his ending air.

Stiles grins.

"Well, if you insist."

Isaac takes his final breath, eyes wide and fearfully set on Stiles' glowing red ones. He always did love surprises.

The thing is killed easily and tossed aside like nothing, and Stiles stares down at Derek, sympathy bleeding into his eyes instead of crimson and in his voice and in his hands.

Derek is a goner, ribs scattered about his body, and Stiles can see his beating heart through the remaining flesh and muscle. 

(He always had loved that muscle. So much fun to play with, to hold on and scratch with naked nails as they pounded into him, oblivious of the doom that follows, of the power in their lips on his and Stiles smirks, always smirks, as he comes.) 

"Take care of this place for me, please." Derek's words are hardly but a guttural whisper, and Stiles is even surprised he can form a word. "Become the alpha."

Stiles turns consoling and cups the alpha's face. "Anything for you," he breathes, leaning down to bare his neck for Derek, for his fangs, for the bite he needn't receive. Derek's mouth opens wide and his fangs are protruding, and just as they latch onto the tendon of Stiles' neck, Stiles moans.

His hand is in Derek's chest, and he grasps his heart between blood red fingers. The bite feels good and every bit as refreshing as when he'd first gotten it. The surge of power is inviting. 

(Deucalion and his alpha pack. They thought they knew all. But there are much worse things than a demon wolf- a human who willingly becomes one.)

Stiles' fingers ghost Derek's lips. "Sleep sweet, my love," he whispers before pressing his lips to Derek's and piercing his heart with claws he'd yet to show and had been dying to come out for a bit of fun.

(Stiles has always been a fan of puns.)

The electricity in the air is foul and sharp, but he feels the pull. The pull of alpha and beta and alpha and family and alpha and alpha against one another, stealing breaths with more than just kisses. 

(His favorite part is always the kiss at the end. Every fairy tale and relationship lie he'd been told ended with a kiss. Every happy book and movie ended in a kiss. So he always ends his take in a kiss, to make it a little more happier, if only for himself.)

His eyes bleed red, so much red that they are black. His shirt has been stained, but he decides to clean it in the morning. 

He always does. 

*

Stiles finds himself wondering why no one ever seems to make it to Valentine's day. 

**Author's Note:**

> please forgive me 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at redhoodedwolf


End file.
